


Family Planning

by bones96



Category: Zero Escape (Video Games)
Genre: Brief reference to gore, Contemplation of alternate histories, Discussions of Murder, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Mental Health Issues, Mira has given up killing but she's still an agent of chaos, Past Child Abuse, Unprotected Sex, psychopathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25815883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bones96/pseuds/bones96
Summary: While on the run, Eric has a moment of clarity, and Mira makes a bad decision.
Relationships: Eric/Mira (Zero Escape)
Kudos: 13





	Family Planning

**Author's Note:**

> I love a good dumpster fire.

_“Wow! I… you… wow… I didn’t think you could get more beautiful! I thought you’d go for blonde, though.”_

Mira stared at the back of the box, her eyes retreading instructions she had already followed. Idly, she adjusted her shower cap, wrinkling her nose as the excess dye smeared onto her fingers. She wiped them off on her towel. The marks she left were streaks of black.

Over the months, this had become routine. It felt like so long ago that she had sent Eric to the store, only for him to come back, undecided with two different boxes of hair dye. She’d explained that with her skin tone, she’d blend in better with dark hair, and Eric had responded, “If blending in is the goal, that’s gonna be a problem. Mira, you stand out no matter what.” He was sweet. Not the brightest bulb, but sweet.

If she were to believe Delta, there was a Mira out there who had decided to dye her hair blonde. She would never know what became of this other Mira: did it help her hide, or did she get caught? Curiosity pricked at her brain, along with an emotion that made the back of her throat taste sour. She believed this was what was meant by “envy.”

It was the SHIFTers whom she envied. There were people who existed with this amazing ability that she could never have. It was so unfair; it was emotions all over again. Except this time it was worse, because she’d actually gotten a taste of SHIFTing: the adrenaline of the near-death experience, the illusion of flight as her consciousness soared through spacetime, and the miraculous rush of emotion and empathy she got from resonating so intimately with the rest of them. Mira was still very much ill; she couldn’t process facial expressions and she was prone to reacting inappropriately to the emotions of others. But she was beginning to see the worth of people as more than just objects to play around with and discard as she pleased, and it got even better -- she no longer felt the urge to kill. SHIFTing one time had done this to her. If she had the opportunity to do it just once more, maybe she would be cured for good.

But it wasn’t just the curative properties of SHIFTing she was interested in; it was the sheer power of it as well. Diana, Carlos, Junpei -- all of them, practically gods, functionally immortal with access to infinite worlds, and they didn’t even seem to appreciate their own gift. There was no such thing as a fatal mistake for them; all death and misfortune would carry them to a history where the fuck-up in question didn’t happen. They were free to experiment with their lives. _What if I did this reckless thing instead?_ The SHIFTers didn’t have to commit to anything; consequences were theirs to manipulate.

While the SHIFTers traipsed through countless universes, Mira was stuck in the same world, forever. There were no do-overs, no what-ifs. She had to be careful when she made a decision, weigh the pros and cons of every option and choose only the ones that promised the best outcomes for her. It was tedious. And until the Decision Game, she had never realized just how boring it was.

She rinsed her hair under the faucet in the bathtub, careful not to let it touch the filthy shower floor. Once she had gotten the old hairdryer to work and brushed out all the tangles, she regarded her hair in the mirror. Long, straight, and black as soot, it looked about as good as she was going to get it. She missed the way her old stylist used to expertly layer it and the luscious waves she could achieve with the collection of hair products she had left behind. But the woman the authorities were chasing was a stunner; there was no way they’d confuse this hot mess with Mira Ricardo.

Mira frowned. She’d spent so long looking at herself through dingy motel mirrors that her idea of what she really looked like had itself become rather dingy. Luckily, she had something with her that never failed to remind her how beautiful she was.

Her fingers curled around the door jamb as she exited the bathroom, bracing herself for a bombardment of compliments. But Eric didn’t even turn his head when he heard her come in. He had barely moved from the position she’d left him in an hour ago, on the right side of the bed with his knees pulled up to his chest.

“Eric?” she called out.

“Mira…” he responded distractedly. Saying her name out loud as if in prayer was basically a reflex for him at this point. When he turned to look at her, his brow was furrowed and he looked to be in physical pain. Mira knew that meant he had just been deep in thought. “Was Sean telling the truth?”

Yes. Yes, he was. Sean had told them many things and Mira was inclined to believe them all, because she absolutely would have done everything he said she did. Every unspeakable act he’d described those other versions of her committing against her devoted husband played out vividly in her head; she could almost remember what his heart felt like slowing in her hands.

But she was different in this history. Eric was safe with her. He was safe and she didn’t want him to think otherwise.

She opened her mouth, ready to lie to him, but Eric interrupted her. “He said that I… that I killed him. I _shot_ him. More than once. And I’m telling myself, it’s okay, he’s a robot, he could have gotten fixed. But did I know that? It was hours into the Decision Game before we found out he was a robot. What if when I… _killed_ him… I still thought he was…” He trailed off.

“…just a kid?” Mira offered.

Eric winced. “That,” he confirmed through gritted teeth.

Interesting. That was a question she hadn’t considered, and she had considered everything that happened during the Decision Game quite a bit. “It’s a possibility,” she said. She walked over to the bed and leaned against the headboard. “Maybe in one history you knew Sean was a robot, and in another, you didn’t.”

“Even if I did know, he looks so much like a regular kid. That should have stopped me, right?”

“Why would it matter what he looks like? If you went out of your way to hurt him, you must have had a good reason.”

Eric opened his mouth, then hesitated. He glanced at her sideways. “Did you ever have a reason?”

“Oh, but Eric --” Mira chuckled. “That’s different. I was insane.”

“Maybe I am too, if I’m capable of doing _that_ to a child.”

“I’m confused. Why is it so important how old he is?” Mira’s youngest victim had been one of her classmates in her junior year of high school, but it wasn’t like she had gone out of her way to avoid killing children. She didn’t understand society’s reverence for them -- after all, she knew personally that they could be just as depraved as any adult.

“It just…” Eric’s voice had gotten quiet. “It’s important.”

If the things Sean said Mira did were in character for her, there was no reason to think it would be any different for Eric. In truth, the idea of a mad and violent Eric was a little exciting to her. But she felt like playing devil’s advocate. “Why are we even discussing this?” she scoffed, putting a hand on her hip. “It was a completely different history. We can’t say for sure if that Eric was really you. This is silly.”

Eric frowned. He was silent for several moments, his face contorting back into that pained, thoughtful look - existential questions like that always seemed to make his head hurt. Slowly, he crossed his arms over his chest, wrapping himself in a hug. When he spoke again, his voice was shaking. “I can’t have a family. Mira, we can never have kids.”

Well, that was a surprise to hear from him. “That’s all you’ve ever wanted.”

“It _was_.” Eric’s lip began to tremble. “But if I - if I’m capable of…” He shivered as his grip on his arms tightened. “Fuck!” With that word, his tears began to flow. “I’m just fucking like him.” 

_Him._ Of course. His abusive father. Eric didn’t talk about his family, but Mira knew. He had opened up to her about it once, in a different history. She’d heard the story secondhand from Sean.

Eric bared his soul, and she promptly murdered him. Was there any wonder he never mentioned his parents around her?

The fact that he would bring up his father told her that something was very wrong. She had yet again gravely misread him. This was no thought experiment he was raising, no ethical dilemma. 

“You’re upset about this.”

“No shit, what gave it away?” said Eric between stuttered, weeping breaths. 

“Hmph.” 

Eric’s eyes widened as he realized what he had just said. “Mira! I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry!” All the while, tears continued to chase each other down his cheeks, tears meant not for her but for Sean and his father. 

Mira had made a mistake; once more she yearned to SHIFT, back to the beginning of this conversation for a do-over. Anyone normal would have known that Eric was horrified with himself long before the tears, based on his pained grimace or the way he avoided eye contact. Hell, anyone normal would be horrified themselves by the very subject matter of the conversation. A good wife would have been cradling Eric in her arms the moment she stepped out of the bathroom and saw him in distress, and she would have talked him away from the dark corners of his mind. Instead, Mira had encouraged him to go deeper into the darkness. 

This was the cruelty of her new brain. She cared enough about Eric to want to see him happy, but she still hardly knew what happy looked like. But now that she knew for a fact that he was sad, she could at least pretend to be a good wife.

She climbed into bed next to him as he blubbered his apologies. With a sigh and an eye roll she hoped he wouldn’t see, she scooted in close until their arms were touching. “Jesus Christ, Eric, stop apologizing. This isn’t about me.”

“But I forgot! I forgot that you can’t empathize.”

“No. I think I get it. You did something terrible, and you’re just now realizing how bad it really was. You have to reconcile what you did with your humanity.” Eric hadn’t really _done_ anything, of course; an alternate version of him did something, and he _heard_ about it, from a victim who in this world was still very much alive. Mira had _done_ things, things she could remember and regret which impacted the lives of herself and others to this day. There were so few parallels between them, but comparing their situations was the closest thing to empathy she could muster. “It’s similar to what I went through recently.”

“I mean, kind of --” He interrupted himself with a choking sob from deep within his chest.

“Don’t say anything,” Mira whispered. “Let it out.” Whatever “it” was. She placed a hand on the side of his head and guided it until it rested snug against the crook of her neck. She would never be able to master comfort, but Eric was easy. All she had to do was sit still and let him cry into her bosom for a few minutes, and that usually got him back in good spirits. If he wanted anything else from her –

“Mira, could you hold me?”

– well, he wasn’t ashamed to be needy. Mira wrapped her arms around him as he cried. Her embrace was stiff, but he relaxed against her at the touch. His tears smeared hot against her skin, and Mira pondered how she had gotten here - a musty motel on the outskirts of Peoria, embracing her sobbing husband on a lumpy bed, her cheaply dyed black hair falling in front of his face. 

She had earlier bemoaned the burden of having to make the best decisions only. But since Dcom, had she made even a single good choice?

Which had been stupider, breaking out of prison or turning herself in in the first place? 

Had the transporters even worked? Maybe there were another Mira and another Eric in 2011, making a better future for them both; maybe there weren’t. All she knew for sure was that she was one of the two unlucky consciousnesses that had stayed trapped in this history. 

And what about going on the run? Using fake names, picking up odd jobs, sleeping in motels and rarely staying more than a couple of weeks made a passable lifestyle for Mira, but Eric, craving home and stability, struggled with it. Perhaps the mistake had not been going on the run but rather taking Eric along with her. Or maybe the mistake was…

Marrying Eric?

She glanced down at the man in her arms. His hair hung down almost to his chin. He was skinnier now, and a little less pale, and he smiled less often. Since the Decision Game, she smiled more, and he smiled less. They balanced each other out in a way that made Mira feel completed, and she liked having him around for that reason. She wouldn’t call it love, not exactly, but she still cared about him in a way she wouldn’t have been capable of a year ago.

Her arms tightened around Eric without her meaning to, and his came up to cling to her even tighter. Only time would tell if marrying him had been a mistake. Either way, it was clear that the world they were living in together was far from the ideal one. 

Eventually, sobs gave way to sniffles and Eric found the strength to speak again. “I feel a little better now,” he said, voice heavy with phlegm, “but I don’t want to let go.” He tilted his head to look up at her. “Mira… I know this kind of thing isn’t easy for you. Dealing with me, and my feelings. But you’re really trying for me, and I love you so much for that. Thank you.”

People spoke of the sensation of one’s heart filling and bursting to indicate being overwhelmed by love. That was too extreme a description for Mira, but she could imagine that what she felt when she heard him say that was somehow analogous: a weak swelling, like someone was trying and ultimately failing to rehydrate her shriveled raisin of a heart back into a grape. She felt it whenever Eric expressed patience and sympathy for her condition, something no one had ever done for her before. Perhaps if she’d always had someone like him, someone who decided to understand her instead of scolding and othering her for her inability to emote, she would never have become the monster who was the Heart Ripper -- yet another what-if that she would never know the answer to.

He deserved a reward for his understanding. Ignoring the unflattering puffiness of his face, she brushed her fingertips under his chin and lifted his head to hers for a light kiss. 

The wicked idea came to her the instant their lips touched. If this history was already a bad one, what harm would it do in the scheme of the universe to make one more poor decision?

Eric laughed shyly as they separated. “I’ll take that as a ‘you’re welcome.’” He brought a hand up to stroke her hair. “I must have told you before, but I’m gonna say it again. You are so beautiful like this.”

There was the Eric she knew. A coy smile spread across Mira’s face and as it did, she shifted in bed, subtly moving Eric until he was flat on his back and she was straddling him, forcing him to extend his legs under her. “You know what?” she said. “Fuck those other timelines. There’s only one way to know for sure whether you’ll be a good father, and that’s by being a father.” She lifted her nightgown as she started to rock her hips against his. She hadn’t gone without underwear intending to seduce him, but she could feel that it was having that effect.

“Mira…” he breathed. He stared, wide-eyed, as her nightgown came off over her head. “Fuck.”

“That’s the plan.” She inched her fingers under his shirt and ran her hands up his sides until the fabric was bunched up under his arms. He scrambled to get the shirt off, then lunged for the backpack where he kept the condoms. It was a few feet away from the bed, and Mira’s knees trapped him where he was so he couldn’t reach. She grabbed his wrist and leaned in close. “No protection,” she whispered. “I want that family.”

Eric knit his brow. “What? Are- are you sure?”

“Absolutely sure.”

“Okay, but, even ignoring everything I just said, we… Mira, we’re fugitives. Now doesn’t seem like the best time to –”

Mira cut him off with a kiss; a little bit of tongue and some more grinding on his dick were all the convincing he needed. He was a simple man. “O-okay,” he said when she pulled away, a hesitant grin on his face. “Let’s do it. Let’s- let’s make a baby.”

“Hmmm.” She smirked and busied herself with his fly, laughing at the way he whimpered and squirmed at her touch. His hands hovered beside her hips, but he knew best not to touch until he was instructed.

Eric was right – they had no business being parents. But she was tired of being the Mira who tried and failed to do the smart thing; she wanted to live reckless as a SHIFTer. This was a decision point. In some history, in some universe, some Mira was going to conceive a baby with some Eric in some shitty motel in Peoria; that much was inevitable. It may as well be this history. Damned if she was going to let some bleached-blonde Mira be the one to witness the chaos that followed.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, I am not the one with a flawed understanding of SHIFTing, Mira is. I mean, I don’t totally get it either, but I at least know that it can’t be done at will and that it can’t be used for trivial things.


End file.
